It’s Wednesday.
I am the first one on the trail.
The snow is pristine,
it creaks and crunches and complains
under my boots.
A hint of wood smoke
from a distant stove is in the air.
Clink, clink.
My poles hit stone beneath the snow.
Each step is a small triumph,
as my feet
twist, and grip, and slip.
Today, walking is work,
and it’s good work.

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